


Three Months On

by angels_hunters_idjits



Category: Third Star (2010)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Drowning, Flashbacks, M/M, Prescription Drug Abuse, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Third Star spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-02 09:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4055629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angels_hunters_idjits/pseuds/angels_hunters_idjits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's three months after Barafundle. A dinner, a catch-up. A young man who isn't coping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Italics = flashbacks
> 
> My first attempt at fanfiction, driven by the brilliant film Third Star, which I could watch every single day to be perfectly frank. It's intended to be multi-chaptered so we'll see how that goes. I say it's AU-ish in the sense that I play around with movie canon and the relationships in it, although I think you could certainly interpret the movie as I do... but maybe that's my hyperactive slash imagination?
> 
> As I say, this is my first try, so if you have any suggestions for improvements please let me know, as i'm expected to get things wrong.

It's a quiet morning. Chloe is at the sink, and Miles is teasing the girls as he pours milk onto his cornflakes.

The phone rings and cuts through the quiet buzz of Miles and the girls. They go silent and the girls look at their mother, who goes straight for it, running her hand across her face.

Erasing the tears that have freshly-fallen.

Miles does his best not to notice.

She's on the phone for a few minutes, nodding and talking quietly, glancing over at Miles once or twice. For his part, Miles does his best to distract the girls, but they don't really respond to his efforts; they've gotten good at detecting when Uncle Jim is being mentioned.

With a hushed 'Bye', Chloe puts the phone down and crosses over the table. She sits and at her daughter's request, starts to plait her hair.

Miles watches her, sees the way her hands move automatically, bringing together strands of hair and weaving them over and under each other while her eyes stare off into space.

"That was Davy," Chloe says eventually, and Miles' head shoots up in surprise. He hadn't expected it to be him.

"How did he sound?" Miles asks, and he's not really sure why.

"Tired, but... better." Chloe replies after some deliberation.

Miles nods in understanding, remembering Davy at the funeral: pale, thin, looking like a ghost in a black suit, silent and staring down at the ground.

"What did he want?"

"Said he was passing on a message from Mom because she was in a hurry," Chloe replies, finishing the plait. "Her and Dad are putting together dinner on Saturday since it's been three months since...'

She struggles to get the words out, tries again, and only gets as far as 'Three months since...' She trails off, her eyes defocusing again.

Suddenly, Miles' head feels too heavy to hold up, and he finds himself staring at the floor.

Three months. Three months since James swam into the sea and Miles had to pull his body back out.

Could time really have gone so quickly?

Miles feels the edges of his eyes burning. The three of them had kept their promise, hadn't said anything, just let the Griffith family think their beloved boy had been alone at the end.

_"I promised to bring him back," Davy murmurs, speaking for the first time since they slumped down on the armchairs in Bill's comfortable living room, passing a bottle of whiskey between them._

_It's two weeks after Barafundle. Bill had called, inviting them both over for the night. Despite Bill basically being a cuddly bear in human form, invitations to his house were rare. As Miles was let in, the reason was obvious: Abbie was out for the night._

_Bill greeted him with a hug and a beer, then did the same for Davy when he arrived half an hour later. Davy had only responded with his arms halfway round Bill's back, accepted the beer without saying anything, and dropped onto the chair nearest the TV, staring at the blank screen._

_They had kept up the small talk for an hour before Bill had found the whiskey and they had passed it around, trading memories of James._

_Well, Bill and Miles traded memories._

_Whenever the bottle came to Davy, he simply swigged and handed it to Miles, not even looking at him._

_Miles tried to be patient, he really did, but soon, the silence started to wear on his nerves, and, ignoring Bill's warning look, opened his mouth to say something._

_Then Davy had beat him to it by saying that._

_"I promised to bring him back. His Mom looked at me and said 'make sure he comes back in one piece'," he continues, voice growing thicker with each word. "And I said... I said...'_

_There are tears in his eyes, which are still determinedly fixed on the TV._

_"I said, 'I will'. But I didn't. I wasn't even there when he-"_

_"You tried to stay with him," Bill cuts in suddenly, as the first tears begin to fall down Davy's face. "And he knew you were there for him. That's got to count for something."_

_Davy doesn't answer, but he finally looks at Miles. And Miles can't pull himself away from that blue-eyed, tear-streaked stare._

Miles looks up, tears threatening. They're flowing freely down Chloe's face.

"What time?"

-     -     -     -     - 

It doesn't surprise Miles that there's already a car parked in front of the house when they pull up.

It's Davy's: black, sleek enough, but not entirely fashionable. Which is probably the best way to describe Davy when Miles sees him in the garden, clad in black jeans and shirt, both of which have seen better days, helping Mrs Griffith lay out silverware, like nothing has changed. His shirtsleeves are rolled up, revealing pale, thin arms. His hair and beard seem even scruffier if that's possible. Miles considers cracking a joke about how he manages to see from under his fringe but reconsiders when he sees the concerned look Mrs Griffith is giving Davy.

"How are you mate?" Miles says instead as he hugs Davy. Davy wraps his arms around Miles and squeezes, gives a muttered, "Alright, how about you?" It's progress compared to the half-hearted response he gave Bill.

As he steps back, Miles sees that Davy's eyes are red. Davy seems to realise where he's looking, and quickly looks away, watching the grass, the conservatory, Chloe's girls as they run to their grandparents' open arms, squealing happily.

Anything but look at Miles and give him that proof he has been expecting to find since he and Chloe got in the car: that Davy isn't coping.

Not that Miles is surprised. James had been right when he said he couldn't see what Davy would do once he was gone. Oh sure, he's got himself back on his feet somewhat. After a month he had moved himself out of the Griffith household, despite Mrs Griffith's assurances that he didn't need to.

_"Are you sure, Davy dear?" Mrs Griffith asks, as Bill bustles past with yet another box. Miles hadn't realised that Davy actually had so much stuff. But moving his entire life probably did entail a fair amount of baggage._

_Mrs Griffith is holding Davy's wrist, softly but firmly, to prevent him from turning around and brushing off the question like he has every other time she's tried to broach the topic._

_"There's no rush, honestly. We've gotten so used to having you around, and you're so helpful. It's not a burden, really."_

_Mr Griffith pauses in passing a duffel to Miles and watches his wife, eyes glinting behind his glasses._

_Davy nods, a slight bounce of his head. He manages to look to Mrs Griffith with those clear eyes whose rims are so, so red. Miles had never thought someone could cry so much that it made their eyes look sore._

_"I know, I know, it's just... staying here, I'm not sure it's good for me... to be surrounded every day  by memories of him, to go to bed, reliving-"_

_He breaks off abruptly, having said more than he intended to. He tears his gaze away from Mrs Griffith, staring aimlessly off into the living room, chin trembling as he fights to hold back yet more tears._

_Mrs Griffith's face is so full of motherly concern and understanding that it's a little heartbreaking. Mr Griffith looks away and pushes the duffel into Miles' arms, and purely for the sake of saying something, mutters, "I'm pretty sure if we shift things about a bit, there'll be one less box for you to unpack Davy."_

_He turns and trudges back up the stairs. The thud of boots on wood seems to break Davy out of his reverie. With a little shake and a deep breath, he turns to look at Mrs Griffith again._

_She lets go of his wrist and steps back, giving him the space they all know he needs, yet fear to give him._

_"Of course, dear," she says quietly, holding back her own tears. "I understand."_

"How's the flat?" Miles asks, the memory making the question come out of his mouth before he can think about it.

Davy looks at him, eyes sharp through the blur, and Miles nearly smiles. Still on guard for Miles-isms then.

After apparently deciding there's no insult planned, Davy shrugs and murmurs, "Still finding dust in odd places. I was looking for a towel the other day and got a facefull l instead."

Mrs Griffith - who seems to have materialised out of nowhere with a drink in each hand - laughs and says, "Oh yes, David was telling me about that earlier. The things that happen to you when no one's around."

Davy just shrugs and takes a sip of the wine. He looks off in another direction again, and Miles realises just how long that's been a defence mechanism of Davy's. Whenever he feels like too many people are looking at him, or that he's an object of intense scrutiny, he finds something else to look at, as though he can pretend it isn't happening.

In this case, it's over Mrs Griffith's shoulder and to the open doors of the conservatory, through which the kitchen can be glimpsed.

"Do you need help with anything? I bet in a few more minutes the chicken will be-"

"No, no dear," Mrs Griffith says quickly. "It's alright. I haven't long checked it actually. It needs another twenty minutes or so."

"Well, how about the salad? Or drink? I could-"

"No dear, really, everything's under control. You just have a drink and catch up."

It's on the tip of Miles' tongue to say, _God just leave her alone and stop trying to be needed all the while_ , when he sees Mrs Griffith's face and realises that that's exactly what she's trying to make Davy understand.

Miles never finds out if Davy sees it or not, because at that moment, a horn blares out.

"Oh, I wonder who that is?" Mr Griffith says, giving his grandchildren a knowing look. With an excited yell, they leap out of his arms and run for the front drive, shouting, "Uncle Bill!"

A few moments later they hear Bill saying, "Well, look who it is!" followed by a whoop, a laugh and a squeal and all three appear, one girl running while Bill charges after her with the other in his arms.

He does a lap of the garden, before Chloe plays her part and comes forward, retrieving her daughter from Bill's arms. Bill hugs Mr Griffith, kisses Mrs Griffith on the cheek and bounds over to Miles and Davy, leaving smiles and laughter in his wake. Bill clearly hasn't lost his ability to brighten up a room  - or indeed, garden - simply by being in it.

He pulls Miles into a wordless hug, both of them squeezing the other tight, before turning to Davy.

Davy goes for a small smile, but Bill's having none of it and pulls him a hug tighter than that he gave Miles, murmuring, "You alright, mate?"

It's not the first time Miles has heard those words.

_They've taken James' body away, practically having to pry Davy's hands off him with the aid of Bill. Miles just hung back, unsure of where to place himself, and ended up listening to the officer-in-charge saying they're going to take the three of them back the mainland, where Mr and Mrs Griffith would be waiting._

_Miles feels guilt, ice-cold and fresh, stab into the whirling haze of grief-guilt-fear. The thought of seeing James' parents so soon, not even having the chance to try and get his head together and lie to their faces about their son's last morning pushes him to the verge of panic._

_Davy is still on his knees. He hasn't even put his boots back on. Wet sand is sticking to his sodden clothing. His head is bowed, staring down into his hands, palms facing upwards and fingers curled inwards._

_Tears, as crystal-clear as the guilt knifing into Miles, are falling onto them._

_Bill is looking at him, unable to decide whether to comfort him or give him space._

_When Davy's lean frame begins to shake, and the wet sobs are ripped out of his raw throat, Bill goes with the former._

_He crouches down and wraps an arm around Davy's shoulders._

_"You're alright, Davy, it's okay, it's over now-"_

_Davy reacts in a way that has Miles taking a step back. His head snaps up, he throws Bills off with such force that he falls into the wet sand with a_ squelch _, and he surges to his feet._

_"OF COURSE IT'S NOT OKAY! IT'S NOT! AND IT'S NOT FUCKING OVER EITHER!"_

_He spins to look at Miles, as though daring him to contradict him. Through the fury and red-rimmed eyes, Miles sees what Davy is truly feeling: sadness and guilt, trapped in a dark downward spiral that threatens to pull all of Davy down with it._

_"HOW CAN IT BE OVER BECAUSE JIM'S GONE?! HE'S GONE AND WE'RE STILL HERE! AND WE HAVE TO LIVE WITH THIS! LIVE WITH THE FACT THAT WE DIDN'T STOP HIM! THAT WE LET HIM SWIM OUT THERE AND-"_

_Whatever Davy wants to say next seems to stick in his throat, and he chokes. Bill clambers up and takes a cautious step._

_The choke becomes a sob and Davy sinks back down to his knees, face in his hands, tears leaking out between his fingers._

_A small, cowardly part of Miles glances over his shoulder and sees the paramedics watching them. If they hear any more, if Davy lets slip that they-_

_"I know it's what he wanted," Davy croaks and Miles turns and sees that Bill has his arm around Davy again and this time he hasn't been thrown off. Bill's obviously been saying something to try and comfort him._

_The fear becomes yet another kind of guilt. Red-hot and shameful on the back of his neck. His friend is devastated beyond all consolation, and all Miles can think about is being found out._

_The self-recrimination makes him drop to his knees too, but unlike Bill, he keeps his hands stuffed in his pockets._

_Not sure what comfort to give to someone who's lost his-_

_"He wanted to be remembered as he was before we set off for Barafundle. Still walking by himself, laughing, joking... for him, now was the best time," Bill says, rubbing Davy's arm._

_The sobs are getting drier and Davy manages a small nod, and drags his head up to look at them both._

_"I know," he says, voice quiet and rough. "I know... but he still had time, time to say goodbye properly, to..."_

_Davy shakes his head. They've already said all this, when they were trying to talk James out of it. No use saying it again._

_Miles finally finds something to do and crawls over to the nearby tent, coming back with a blanket. He drapes it over Davy's shoulders and Bill sends him an appreciative look. Davy reaches up and pulls the material tighter to him._

_Davy's staring off into the distance and Miles abruptly realises that they're facing the sea. The waves are more grey than blue, the foam bright and white as it hits the shore._

_Bill's watching the waves too, his arm still around Davy's shoulders under the blanket. Miles finally sits down properly, and the three unconsciously huddle together, trying not to think about how they're missing a fourth person._

_Davy obviously fails as the tears soon start falling again. Miles looks and see Bill's crying too. There are tears on the edge of his vision too, blurring the waves into a mass of grey-and-white._

_"We're alright," Miles says, partly to try and prove it to himself. Bill manages a nod, although, like Miles' statement, it's not really true._

_And Davy just watches the waves._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That inevitable moment when Miles puts his foot in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurrah, I figured out how to keep the italics on the fics! Here's the second part, really enjoying writing this, to the point where I got in trouble for staying up so late last night cos I got so into it.

"Why don't you two come and help me bring the rest of the things out?" Mrs Griffith says, clearly eager to break the silence that had settled when Davy had pulled out of Bill's arms. She's beckoning to Miles and Chloe as Davy goes to step forward.

"No dear, I told you to stay put," Mrs Griffith says, the rebuke gentle and so maternal Davy can't help but obey.

Chloe smiles as she follows her mother. "Haven't yet met anyone who can resist when Mom puts that voice on."

Miles gives a quiet huff of laughter and he follows her into the kitchen, where Mrs Griffith's waiting with a large bowl of salad, having just checked on the chicken. The oven's released a mouth-watering aroma of lemon, rosemary, roast chicken and something faintly spiced apple-y.

She glances out of the window as Miles takes the bowl off her while Chloe goes for a plate of potatoes.

Miles follows her gaze, seeing Bill and Mr Griffith chatting amiably, or at least trying to. The girls have settled into a hushed silence at their side.

The oldest is watching Bill with a look of concentrated admiration. She loves Bill's stories.

Chloe's youngest however, is staring up at Davy, who's staring down, into his half-empty glass. Her expression can be described only as... contemplative.

Eventually, Davy seems to realise he's being watched and looks down. They hold eye contact for a few seconds before the youngest wraps her arms around Davy's legs and holds tight.

Mrs Griffith smiles and Miles looks and see Chloe's watching too, her eyes glistening again.

Davy eventually responds, too kind to let a child's embrace go ignored, and kneels down to pull her into a proper hug, eliciting a delighted laugh.

Uncle Bill tells great stories, but Uncle Davy gives great hugs.

Mrs Griffith sighs she reaches for two bottles of white wine.

"I wish it was that simple to make him feel better. He was here about half an hour before you two, and i've been trying to get him to talk, but he just nods or answers quickly. I wish he hadn't moved out."

"He said he needed to," Chloe reminds as they march back out the kitchen, with her in the lead.

"I know, but not wanting to be surrounded by memories is one thing. To be _alone_..."

She trails off as they near the table set up in garden, near enough to the conservatory doors to catch a bit of warmth if things get a bit chilly.

Miles sets the salad bowl down, thinking that Mrs Griffith is wrong to think Davy doesn't want to be surrounded by memories.

_On the third knock, Davy lets them in. The door opens on to a combined living room-kitchenette setup, with doors leading to a bedroom and bathroom. The door to the bedroom is half-open, and Miles can see an unmade bed and clothes that need to be folded up and put away._

_Boxes litter the floor, and Miles moves one out of the way, CDs clattering against books as he does. The kitchenette looks like it's been kept tidy but there are a few plates that need a decent scrubbing. There's just a sofa, no other chairs._

_Davy is standing in the centre of the room, hands on his hips, looking as tired and sad as he had that afternoon when Bill and Miles had left him to unpack. They would have stayed, but he had insisted._

_"Well," Miles says, and his tone is breezy, conversational, trying to inject a sense of normalcy as Bill looks around the room. Clearly the habitat of person still in mourning._

_"You'd think a week would be long enough to scrub off a spaghetti stain."_  
  
He points at Davy's worn jumper. Davy glances down, takes in the faded orange blot as though he's seeing it for the first time. When his head slowly rises, it's to look at Miles with that look of angry hurt he has perfected after being the common target for Miles' insults for so long.

_Miles inwardly curses. Why does everything sound like he's taking the piss?_

_"It was already on there," Davy mutters, pulling on the hem. "I didn't realise till I put it on. I'd made spaghetti for lunch and Jim started showing off, saying he could twist more around his fork than I could."_

_The corners of Davy's mouth lift up, and his eyes shimmer with warmth as he twists the hem in his hands. Miles exchanges glances with Bill as both realise that it's_ James' _jumper Davy is wearing. The words seem to be falling out of Davy's mouth without him consciously realising._

_"Neither of us ended up winning," Davy continues, and his next words are punctuated by a quiet laugh. Miles can't remember the last time he heard Davy laugh. "But Jim did manage to get more down him than I did."_

_Davy's eyes widen suddenly, as though he's suddenly caught up with what he's saying, and he lets go of the hem. He looks up at them, as though waiting for judgement._

_The silence holds and Miles starts to squirm, wants someone to say something, anything, just for the sake of it. He looks between Davy and Bill, and decides it'll have to be him. Then Bill beats him to it._

_"Oh, Davy..."_

_It's soft, quiet, and so unlike Bill that Miles has to look at him. Bill's staring at something along the far wall. Miles turns and sees a stand that is presumably designed for a TV._

_But there isn't a TV. Instead there's two pictures: a picture of the four of them, taken on their first trip to Barafundle all those years ago. They're smiling in t-shirts and shorts, wet and freshly out of the sea, and Miles is drawn to James' expression. To his smile of pure bliss, as though right here, and right now, is the best life will ever be._

_The one next to it is in a fancier frame and from its glossy sheen, looks freshly printed. It's positioned right in the middle of the stand; it's clearly been given pride of place. It's of James and Davy, sitting at the long table in the Griffiths' conservatory. Miles recognises the white patterned shirt Davy is wearing and realises that it's James' birthday party. The last one before Barafundle._

_Davy's got his arm around James, his fingers curling into the dark material of James' blazer, looking up at the camera through his fringe, smile bright and happy. James is wearing that hat of his, smile wide and eye-crinkling._

_Something tugs at Miles' throat as he realises that both are wearing an expression beyond happiness: it is contentment, pure and simple._

_And next to the photo is that selfsame hat, resting against the black-and-gold frame. Davy's followed Miles' gaze, and now he's staring at the photo too, at James' face, like there's nothing else in the world._

_And, not for the first time, Miles truly sees how much James and Davy meant to each other. And how thick he was for not realising before._

There's a loud _pop_ , and Miles sees Mr Griffith's taken the duty of uncorking the wine, while Mrs Griffith calls everyone to the table.

"Dinner's nearly ready! You were right Davy, the chicken was nearly done," she says with a rueful shake of her head. "Keep forgetting our oven cooks a lot quicker now."

Everybody chuckles, Davy giving a simple quirk of the lips as Mrs Griffith goes back to the kitchen, this time taking Chloe and Mr Griffith with her.

Leaving Bill, Davy and Miles alone. Well, alone except for the girls, who have decided to kill the time with a quick game of hide-and-seek.

The three stand there in a loose triangle, clutching at glasses and attempts to make conversation. Bill's asking Davy about his flat too, and Davy's managing to give proper long answers this time. He's still doing that head-down thing though.

Miles suddenly realises they haven't addressed the other elephant in the garden: Abbie's absence.

"Where's Abbie, mate?" Miles asks, and it's Bill's turn to look sheepish. "How's everything with the baby?"

"Oh... fine, we're fine, she's fine... the baby's fine, as far as we know. Got another scan next week."

Bill's reply comes in quick, sharp bursts, making it very clear that he wants to stop discussing this topic as soon as possible

"Oh, well that's... good?"

Miles is sure Davy doesn't intend that to come out as a question.

Bill looks at him, eyes narrowing in... Miles would almost call it offence were it possible to insult Bill.

"Yeah, it's good, of course it is," he says, again as quickly as possible. "We're thinking about getting a bigger place. In case we feel we're ready to try for another."

Miles can feel his eyes widening. Try for another? Why would they try for another?

He glances at Davy and can see that even through the swirl of grief surrounding him, he's thinking the same thing, blue irises sharp as he watches Bill.

Bill looks from one to another, and it's quite clear they're just echoing his own thoughts. Bringing _one_ child into a loveless relationship is bad enough, but two?

"At least they'll have each other while they're growing up in misery."

As soon as the second word leaves Miles' mouth, he hears them but cannot stop it. Bill's head slowly raises, his eyes narrowing as he processes what Miles has said. Davy's head has swerved to Miles, his eyes widening in shock and condemnation.

"Why the hell... why the hell would you say something like that?!" Bill explodes, taking a step forward as his hands curl into fists. "Do you think that's all we could give them? A home filled with nothing but 'misery'?!"

Second by second, he steps closer, and Miles feels himself taking a corresponding step backwards. Davy's sidestepping, trying to stay in the middle in case he needs to suddenly pull them apart. He looks the sharpest and most alert he's been in months.

Forced onto the back foot, Miles automatically goes on the defensive. "Look mate, you know you wouldn't still be with her if it wasn't for her being pregnant!"

That only has the effect of enraging Bill further. "So you think i'd take it out on the kids? Why the hell would I do that? They haven't done anything, they haven't asked to be born!"

Davy raises his hands in what is meant as a conciliatory gesture. "Look Bill, i'm sure Miles didn't mean it to sound so harsh-"

"Well he did a bad fucking job of it, didn't he?!" Bill's dark eyes, usually so full of warmth, bore into Miles'. "Can't hear anything good without trying to put it down! Has to find the flaws in everything!"

"Oh! Well I do apologise!" Miles retorts, throwing his hands up in the air, Bill's rage feeding his own. "Excuse me for being a realist! Just because I refuse to rose-tint everything and try to see things like they really are!"

"Why? What's wrong with that? What's wrong with just hoping that everything will just turn out alright in the end? Because you know what, sometimes it does!"

Davy's lowered his hands and out of the corner of his eye, Miles can see his head slowly begin to nod. He's agreeing with Bill. Of course he is. Davy, eternally opposed to Miles. Bill isn't letting up.

"You just can't let people be happy and believe what they want to believe! You have to tread all over it! You're doing it to me, you did it to Jim-"

Bill's eyes widen in a moment of clarity similar to Miles' as he fully digests what he has said. And then, on autopilot, both turn to look at Davy, simultaneously realising that this is the first time James has been directly mentioned.

Davy's just standing there, staring at the ground. His hands are open, hanging limply down by his sides.

As tears begin to gather in the corners of those blue eyes, crinkling slightly as they hit the sore skin, Miles remembers the morning when Davy leapt to James' defence against Miles, even though he himself had just endured a lashing from James.

Bill, however, is remembering the night on the beach, shortly after James delivered his speech on the idea of a constant cosmic 'is-ness'.

_Miles has gone to find somewhere to pee, while Bill douses the fire and Davy guides a softly stoned James into their tent._

_Bill watches as the embers of the fire die down to a soft amber glow. Over the hiss and snap of still-burning branches, he hears the rustle of blankets as Davy shifts them about, accompanied by a voice of gentle instruction._

_"Here, Jim. Just lift yourself up a second while I... yeah, that's it, down you go..."_

_"You'd make a wonderful nurse, Davy," James says, his voice low and strangely melodic, clearly still under the influence of the joint. "You know that? Or maybe a paramedic. Someone who's there, giving people the reassurance they need when they need it."_

_Sound of a pillow being fluffed up._

_"Yeah, yeah, that's me. All decked out in green-and-yellow like on_ Casualty _. Bill could film me."_

_Bill can hear the gentle teasing, the affection in Davy's voice, and it makes him smile. Even before all this, James and Davy had had a closeness that Bill and Miles didn't._

_"Well, you have enough experience. Might as well turn it into something useful when-"_

_"Stop. No talking like that. You'll work yourself up and won't sleep."_

_Davy's voice has become firm, authoritative, bearing the weight of someone who has had to say this multiple times before._

_"Well that's what the sedatives are for, aren't they? Maybe I should just take a few more than usual, see what-"  
  
"_ Jim! _"_

_Davy's voice is suddenly loud, cutting through the quiet whisper of the waves lapping against the shore. Bill finds himself glancing around to see if Miles is back yet._

_"See which one of us is right," James goes on as if he hasn't been interrupted. "You, me or Miles. Which one do you think is right?"_  
  
James' voice is becoming frenzied now, rising in pitch. The joint has eroded his self-control, and he's speaking as though he can't hold it back any longer.

_"Come on Davy, reassure me. Which is right? Heaven, dancing in the sky, or nothing?"_

_"Jim, I-"_

_"Which one?!"_

_James is shouting now, and Bill sights Miles trudging back to the camp, rubbing his hands on his jeans. Bill starts messing with the canteens and pots, being deliberately clumsy and making loud_ clatter-clatters _of metal on metal. Hoping to obscure the sound._

_"Jim, I- I don't know alright? How can I? And I sure as hell don't what you to find out yet. Not- just not yet, alright?"_

_There's that tell-tale quiver, and Bill curses under his breath. It's getting too much for the always-emotional Davy._

_"Why not? Right now or in six months time, what's the difference?"_  
  
For a moment, Bill thinks Davy isn't going to reply.

_And then he does._

_"The difference is," and Bill can't remember Davy's voice ever sounding so fierce. "Is that we- I have more time to-"_

_Fierce yet sad._

_Bill's not sure what happens next as it suddenly goes silent. He quickly gets to his feet as Miles reaches the fire._

_"What took so long? Find a mermaid?"_  
  
Bill's tone is light, but forced. Miles doesn't seem to notice. He just tilts his head and shoves Bill in the shoulder, laughing as he says, "Shove off."

_As he walks to his and Bill's tent, he doesn't seem to notice the way Bill's deliberately positioned himself between Miles and the gap into the other tent._

_Bill chances a glance over his shoulder. By the glow of the fire, darkened to a deep red, he can only see two dark outlines._

_Then the fire gives one last fire of brightness, and in its flash, Bill sees something that makes him want to gasp and smile at the same time._

_James is lying on his side, swaddled in blankets. Davy - still clad in jacket and boots - has wrapped himself around him, arms wound underneath James' armpits. His hands are clasped together, and James' right one are holding them._

_They share the same pillow, their eyes closed. Their mouths are open slightly, as they breath in and out in the gentle synchronisation of sleep._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think, see you next chapter, when we start to see things from Davy's perspective :)

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews and comments welcome, be kind, it's my first time :)
> 
> See you in Chapter 2!


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